If you can’t see me, look up high,
I’m the one who waves goodbye.
Caleb played the last chord. He let it ring.
He looked up at the ceiling one more time. I’ll never know what he saw up there. I’ve never asked him.
Then the gym exploded.
Everybody was on their feet. Every dad, every grandpa, every teacher. The clapping was so loud it hurt my ears. The man with the sunburned neck was clapping with tears running down his face into his collar, the tissue pack forgotten in his lap.
And along the walls, the officers weren’t clapping.
They stood up straight. Every one of them. And they saluted.
Caleb stood on the stage in his father’s shirt with his father’s guitar against his chest and looked at forty three police officers saluting him, and he didn’t know what to do. He looked at Mr. Lowe. Mr. Lowe was crying too hard to help.
